Path of Destruction

  “I know what happened to you in the dueling ring,” she began. “I know everyone believes Sirak destroyed you; that somehow the defeat robbed you of your power. I can see you believe it, too.”

  Her face had taken on an expression of sorrow. Not pity, thankfully. Bane didn’t want that from anyone—especially not her. But she showed genuine regret as she spoke.

  When he didn’t reply she took a deep breath and continued. “They’re wrong, Bane. You can’t just lose your ability to command the Force. None of us can. The Force is part of us; it’s part of our being.

  “I heard accounts of what you did to that Makurth. That showed what you were capable of. It revealed your true potential; it proved you were blessed with a mighty gift.” She paused. Her gaze was intense. “You may believe you’ve squandered that gift, or lost it. But I know better. I can sense the power inside you. I can feel it. It’s still there.”

  Bane shook his head. “The power may be there, but my ability to control it is gone. I’m not what I used to be.”

  “That’s not possible,” she said, her voice gentle. “How can you believe that?”

  Though he knew the answer, he hesitated before replying. It was a question he had asked himself countless times while floating in the weightless fluid of the bacta tank. After his defeat he’d had plenty of opportunity to struggle with his failure, and he’d eventually come to realize what had gone wrong … though not how to fix it.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to share his personal revelation with a virtual stranger. But who else was he going to tell? Not the other students; certainly not the Masters. And even though he hardly knew Githany, she had reached out to him. She was the only one to do so.

  Exposing personal weakness was something only a fool or an idiot would risk here at the Academy. Yet the hard truth was that Bane had nothing left to lose.

  “All my life I’ve been driven by my anger,” he explained. He spoke slowly, staring down at the surface of the table, unable to look her in the eye. “My anger made me strong. It was my connection to the Force and the dark side. When Fohargh died—when I killed him—I realized I was responsible for my father’s death. I killed him through the power of the dark side.”

  “And you felt guilty?” she asked, once again placing a soft hand on his arm.

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her hand was warm; he could feel the heat radiating through the fabric of his sleeve to his skin underneath. “All I know is that the realization changed me. The anger that drove me was gone. All that was left behind was … well … nothing.”

  “Give me your hand.” Her voice was stern, and Bane hesitated only an instant before reaching out. She clasped his palm with both her hands. “Close your eyes,” she ordered, even as she shut her own.

  In the darkness he became acutely aware of how tightly she had clenched his hand: squeezing the flesh so hard he could feel the beating of her heart through her palms. It was quick and urgent, and his already racing heart accelerated in response.

  He felt a tingling in his fingers, something beyond mere physical contact. She was reaching out with the Force.

  “Come with me, Bane,” she whispered.

  Suddenly he felt as if he were falling. No, not falling: diving. Swooping down into a great abyss, the black emptiness inside his very being. The chill darkness numbed his body; he lost all sensation in his extremities. He could no longer feel Githany’s hands wrapped about his own. He didn’t even know if she was still sitting beside him. He was alone in the freezing void.

  “The dark side is emotion, Bane.” Her words came to him from a long way off, faint but unmistakable. “Anger, hate, love, lust. These are what make us strong. Peace is a lie. There is only passion.” Her words were louder now, loud enough to drown out the drumming of his heart. “Your passion is still there, Bane. Seek it out. Reclaim it.”

  As if in response to her words his emotions began to well up inside him. He felt anger. Fury. Pure, pulsing hatred: hatred of the other students for ostracizing him, hatred of the Masters for abandoning him. Most of all he hated Sirak. And with the hate came the hunger for revenge.

  Then he felt something else. A spark; a flicker of light and heat in the cold darkness. His mind lunged out and grasped the flame, and for one brief instant he felt the glorious power of the Force burning through him once more. Then Githany let go of his hand and it was gone—snuffed out as if he had merely imagined it. But he hadn’t. It was real. He’d actually felt it.

  He opened his eyes warily, like a man waking from a dream he was afraid to forget. From the expression on Githany’s face, he knew she must have felt something, too.

  “How did you do that?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of his voice.

  “Master Handa taught me when I was studying under him in the Jedi order,” she admitted. “I lost touch with the Force once, just as you have. I was still a young girl when it happened. My mind simply couldn’t cope with something so vast and infinite. It created a wall to protect itself.”

  Bane nodded, remaining fervently silent so she could continue.

  “Your anger is still there. As is the Force. Now you must break through the walls you’ve built around it. You have to go back to the beginning and learn how to connect with the Force once more.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Training,” Githany answered, as if it was obvious. “How else does one learn to use the Force?”

  The faint hope her revelation had kindled inside him died.

  “The Masters won’t train me anymore,” he mumbled. “Qordis has forbidden it.”

  “I will train you,” Githany said coyly. “I can share with you everything I learned from the Jedi about the Force. And whatever I learn about the dark side from the Masters I can teach to you, as well.”

  Bane hesitated. Githany was no Master, yet she had trained as a Jedi for many years. She probably knew much about the Force that would be new to him. At the very least he’d learn more with her help than without it. And yet something bothered him about her offer.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  She gave him a sly smile. “Still don’t trust me? Good. You shouldn’t. I’m only in this for myself. I can’t defeat Sirak on my own. He’s too strong.”

  “They say he’s the Sith’ari,” Bane muttered.

  “I don’t believe in prophecies,” she countered. “But he has powerful allies. And the other Zabrak apprentices here are completely loyal to him. If I’m ever going to challenge him, I need somebody on my side. Somebody strong in the Force. Somebody like you.”

  Her reasons made sense, but there was still something bothering him. “Lord Qordis and the other Masters wouldn’t approve of this,” he warned her. “You’re taking an awful risk.”

  “Risks are the only way to claim the rewards,” she replied. “Besides, I don’t care what the Masters think. In the end those who survive are the ones who look after themselves.”

  It took Bane a second to realize why her words sounded so familiar. Then he remembered the last thing Groshik had said to him before he left Apatros. In the end each of us is in this alone. The survivors are those who know how to look out for themselves.

  “You help me regain the Force, and I’ll help you against Sirak,” he said, extending his arm. She clasped it in her own, then stood up to leave. Bane held his grip, forcing her to sit back down. There was a dangerous glint in her eye, but he didn’t let go.

  “Why did you leave the Jedi?” he asked.

  Her expression softened, and she shook her head. She extended her free hand and placed it gently on his cheek. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to share that with you.”

  He nodded. He didn’t need to push her now, and he knew he hadn’t earned the right yet.

  The hand on his cheek fell away, and he let go of her arm. She gave him one last appraising glance, then rose and walked away with brisk, purposeful strides. She never glanced back, but Bane was content to follow her swayin
g hips until she was out of sight.

  Githany knew he was watching her make her exit. Men always watched her; she was used to it.

  All in all she felt the meeting had gone well. For a split second at the end—when he’d refused to let go of her arm—she had wondered if she’d underestimated him. His defiance had caught her off guard; she’d expected someone weak and subservient. But once she’d looked into his eyes she’d realized he was clinging to her out of desperation and fear. One single meeting and he already couldn’t bear to let her go.

  Even though she’d been with the Sith only a short time, the ways of the dark side came naturally to her. She felt no pity or sorrow for him; his vulnerability only made him easier to control. And unlike the Jedi, the Brotherhood of Darkness rewarded ambition. Each rival she brought low proved her worth and elevated her status within the Sith.

  Bane would make the perfect tool to bring her rivals down, she thought. He was incredibly strong in the Force. Even stronger than she’d first realized. She’d been amazed at the power she’d felt inside him. And now he was completely wrapped around her finger. She just had to make sure he stayed that way.

  She’d bring him along slowly, always keeping him just behind her own abilities. It was a dangerous game, but one she knew she could play well. Knowledge was power, and she alone controlled what knowledge he would gain. She’d teach him. String him along, twist him to her will, then use him to crush Sirak. And then, if she felt Bane was growing too powerful, she’d destroy him, too.

  Night had fallen over Korriban; sputtering torches cast eerie shadows in the halls of the Academy. Bane made his way through those halls wrapped in a black cloak, little more than a shadow himself.

  It was forbidden for apprentices to leave their rooms after curfew—one of the steps Qordis had taken to reduce the “unexplained” deaths that seemed to be all too common in academies populated by rival students of the dark side. Bane knew that if he was caught, the punishment would be severe. But this was the only time he could act without fear of being seen by the other students.

  He wound his way through the dormitory floor that housed the students until he reached the stairway leading to the upper levels and the Masters’ quarters. He glanced quickly from side to side, peering into the flickering shadows cast on the stone walls. He paused, listening for the sound of anyone who might catch him in the halls. He had memorized the routes of the night sentries who patrolled the corridors after dark; he knew it would be almost an hour before they returned to this floor of the temple. But there were many other underlings—kitchen staff, cleaning staff, groundskeepers—who served the needs of the Academy and might be wandering about.

  Hearing only silence, he proceeded up the stairs. He made his way quickly past the personal quarters of Qordis, somewhat relieved to see that even the Sith Master felt the need to close and lock his door at night. He continued on past another half a dozen doors, pausing only when he reached the entrance to the Blademaster’s room.

  He knocked once softly, careful not to wake the others. Before he could knock a second time, the door swung open to reveal the Twi’lek. For a split second Bane thought he must have been standing on the other side waiting for him. But that was impossible, of course. More likely the Blademaster’s highly tuned reflexes had reacted to the first knock so quickly that he had already crossed the room and opened the door by the time the second rap came.

  He was clad in a pair of pants, but his torso was bare, showing his scarred and tattooed chest. His confused expression confirmed Bane’s assumption that the Blademaster hadn’t known he was coming, and the speed with which he reached out to grab Bane and haul him inside the room confirmed his suspicions about his extraordinary reflexes.

  Before Bane even realized what was happening, the door was closed and locked behind him, sealing the two of them together in the small, dark room. His host lit a small glow rod on a stand by the bed and turned to glare at his uninvited guest.

  “What are you doing here?” he hissed, keeping his voice low.

  Bane hesitated, uncertain how much to tell him. He had been thinking about Githany’s offer, and what she had said to him. He had decided she was right: he had to look out for himself if he was to survive. That meant he had to be the one to bring Sirak down, not her.

  “I want you to train me again,” Bane whispered. “I want you to teach me all you know about the art of lightsaber combat.”

  Kas’im shook his head in response, but Bane thought he sensed a brief hesitation before he did so.

  “Qordis will never allow it. He has made it very clear that none of the Masters is to waste any more time on you.”

  “I didn’t think you answered to Qordis,” Bane countered. “Aren’t all the Masters equal in the Brotherhood of Darkness?”

  It was a blatant appeal to the Blademaster’s pride, and the Twi’lek easily recognized it for what it was. He smiled, amused at Bane’s boldness. “True enough,” he admitted. “But here on Korriban the other Lords defer to Qordis. It avoids … complications.”

  “Qordis doesn’t have to know,” Bane pointed out, taking heart in the fact that Kas’im hadn’t flat-out refused him yet. “Train me in secret. We can meet at night on the temple roof.”

  “Why should I do this?” the Twi’lek asked, crossing his muscular arms. “You ask for the teachings of a Sith Lord, but what are you offering me in return?”

  “You know my potential,” Bane pressed. “Qordis has cast me aside. If I succeed now, he cannot take the credit. If I become an expert warrior for the Brotherhood, Lord Kaan will know you were the one who trained me. And if I fail, no one will ever suspect your part in this. You have nothing to lose.”

  “Nothing but my time,” the other replied, scratching his chin. “You’ve lost your will to fight. You proved that against Sirak.” His lekku were quivering ever so slightly, and Bane took it as a sign that, despite his words, he was seriously considering the offer.

  Again, Bane hesitated. How much did he dare to reveal? He still planned to let Githany teach him about the Force and the ways of the dark side. But he had realized that if she was his only teacher, he would forever be beneath her in power. If he wanted to be the one to take out Sirak, he’d need Kas’im to help him … and he’d need to keep her from finding out.

  “My will to fight is back,” he finally said, deciding not to reveal Githany’s involvement in his sudden resurrection. “I’m ready to embrace the power of the dark side.”

  Kas’im nodded. “Why are you doing this?”

  Bane knew this was the final test. Kas’im was a Dark Lord of the Sith. His talent and skill were reserved for those who would one day rise up and join the Masters in the Brotherhood of Darkness. He wanted more than proof that Bane was truly ready for this. He wanted proof that Bane was worthy.

  “I want revenge,” Bane replied after careful consideration. “I want to destroy Sirak. I want to crush him like an insect beneath the heel of my boot.”

  The Blademaster smiled in grim satisfaction at his answer. “We will begin tomorrow.”

  15

  Bane made his way down the hall with careful, measured steps. But though his pace was somber and subdued, his mood was one of elated triumph. In the weeks since his fateful meeting with Githany his situation had turned around completely.

  As promised, she was teaching him. The first few sessions had gone slowly as she’d helped him work through his mind’s fear of its own potential. Bit by bit the black veil had been torn away. Piece by piece she was helping him reclaim what he had lost, until once again he felt the power of the dark side coursing through his veins.

  Since then the training had gone much more quickly. His hunger for revenge drove his studies. It fueled his ability to use the Force. It enabled him to understand the lessons that the Masters had taught Githany and she had then passed on to him. Despite being ignored by the instructors, he was once again learning everything the other apprentices were being taught—and learning it rapidly.
br />   As another student passed Bane bowed his head, keeping up the pretense of subservience. It was important that none of the others suspected anything had changed. He kept his training with Githany hidden from everyone, even Kas’im … just as the Blademaster’s training was kept secret from her.

  Kas’im knew he was growing more formidable with the blade, but didn’t know he was making similar strides in other areas. Githany could see his progress in unleashing his true potential with the Force, but wasn’t aware he was also mastering the intricacies of lightsaber combat. As a result, they were both likely to underestimate the full scope of his abilities. Bane liked the subtle edge that gave him.

  His days were now filled with study and training. In the darkest hours before morning’s first light he would meet Kas’im to practice drills and techniques. He would meet with Githany in the archives in the midday, where she could share instruction with him without fear of interruption or discovery. And whenever he wasn’t training with Kas’im or studying with Githany, he read the ancient texts.

  Another apprentice approached and Bane moved to the side, projecting an image of weakness and fear to hide his remarkable metamorphosis. He waited until the other apprentice’s footsteps faded away before heading down the stairs toward the tomes in the temple’s lowest levels.

  Qordis or one of the other Masters might have been able to pierce the false front he projected and sense his true power, were they not blinded by their own arrogance. They had dismissed him as a failure; now he was beneath their notice. Fortunately, this anonymity suited Bane just fine.

  He hardly slept at all anymore. It seemed his body no longer needed sleep; it fed on his growing command of the dark side. An hour or two of meditation each day was enough to keep his body energized and his mind invigorated. He consumed knowledge with the appetite of a starving rancor, devouring everything he got from his secret mentors and always hungering for more. The Blademaster was amazed at his progress, and even Githany—despite her years of study with the Jedi—was hard-pressed to keep ahead of him. Everything he learned from them he supplemented with the wisdom of the ancients. On his first arrival he had sensed the value of the archives, only to turn his back on them as he had been drawn into the daily routine and intense lessons of the Academy. Now he understood that his initial instincts had been right after all: the knowledge contained in the yellowed parchments and leather-bound manuscripts was timeless. The Force was eternal, and though the Masters at the Academy now walked a different path than their Sith forebears had, they all sought answers in the dark side.